


Practice Makes Perfect

by ladyspock7



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Jim Has a Cunning Plan, Jim Yearns, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oswald Yearns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2019-12-26 08:10:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyspock7/pseuds/ladyspock7
Summary: For the Free Space prompt. Oswald and Jim pretend to be a couple when they attend the wedding of Lee and Edward. Of course, this means they have to practice...Fake dating, mutual pining, angst, and fun times.





	1. Let's Make a Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Gobblepot Spring 2019, the Free Space prompt. Oswald and Jim decide to pretend to be a couple when they attend the wedding of Lee and Ed. Fake dating, mutual pining, both of them trying to be cool about it and failing miserably. Angst and fun times!

 Oswald regarded the crisp invitation edged with gold, the words on it mocking him.

 _You and a guest are cordially invited to the wedding of Leslie Thompkins and Edward Nygma. In lieu of gifts, we ask for donations to be made to one of the following charities..._  
  
How altruistic. That little touch about donations was Lee's idea, no doubt. It certainly couldn't have been Ed's.

Oswald threw back another shot of whisky. He was so over Ed. He was. He didn't know why this damn invitation was getting to him so badly.  
He fumbled for the scotch, managed to snag it on the second try, and, mindful that it was five hundred dollars a bottle, poured it very carefully into the glass. Hardly got any on the desk.

It was the sheer spiteful nature of it, that was it. Not sent as a goodwill gesture, he was sure, but rather to rub it in his face, once again, that Ed was straight, had always been straight, get-it-through-your-head-Oswald.

Well, he got it, all right, about half a second after Ed fucking shot him. Must he belabor the point?

Despite Ed mouthing platitudes about love being a weakness, he sure was prone to falling into that sort of trap. It was so obvious that Lee was using him for her own convoluted purposes, not that it was any of Oswald's business.

So. Anyway. An invitation to this laughable affair. Clearly meant to drive home the fact that Oswald would always be alone and miserable. Oh, and it was presented to "You and a guest,” Ed knew damn well Oswald didn't have anyone to ask to go with him.

Oswald hoisted himself to his feet and paced around his immaculate office, toying with the idea of hiring an escort. Finding a man willing to pretend to be Oswald's boyfriend was not a problem, but convincing Ed that they were a real couple would be. Ed would see right through it.

Of course, Oswald could always make up a story, spin a tale of...of eyes meeting across a crowded room, or...

Oswald made a disgusted noise in his throat and made his way back to his chair. The thought of bringing an escort into his confidence, allowing a stranger to peek into his insecurities and concocting a ruse to cover up his pathetic personal life made him bristle. No, no he could never allow himself to be so vulnerable.

It took three shots of hard liquor to slow the thoughts rampaging through his mind, the blessed numbness dulling the edges of his anger and he nodded off at his desk.

\- - - - -

His next moment of awareness came when someone began shaking his shoulder in a most rude way and shoved something white in his face. A letter or something equally loathsome.

“You see this, Oswald?” someone shouted in his ear. “You got one too, right?”

Oswald groped for his cane and the knife in it, reacting on automatic, then he squinted.

The slightly blurred features of Jim Gordon scowled above him.

“Get off me!” he snapped, shoving Jim.“What are you blathering about?”

Jim staggered back a couple of steps, swayed, then lumbered forward, still waving the missive. “This!” Jim said, aggrieved. “Invited ever'body, I bet.”

Oswald leaned back and tried to focus on the white rectangle Jim was brandishing in his face. Now that Jim had stopped shaking him so rudely, he could see that it was the same wedding invitation.

How dare Jim barge in here! Took a lot of nerve. He was about to deliver the full force of his wrath, to scream for his halfwit bodyguards to sling the high and mighty Jim Gordon out on his ass, but now that Jim was fully in focus, he hesitated.

Jim's hair was dishevelled and his voice slurred, but far more distracting was the fact that Jim's tie was gone and his shirt was open almost to his navel. And he wasn't wearing an undershirt, either.

Oswald blushed to the roots of his hair, a confusing tangle of embarrassment and desire leaving him momentarily breathless.

The henchman, Louis, who'd followed Jim into the office coughed nervously. “He pushed past me, boss. You want I should get him outta here?”

Oswald forcibly redirected his attention past the expanse of bare skin just off to his right. “Where the hell is Trevor?” There were supposed to be two men on the door.

“Bathroom.”

Oswald rubbed his eyes. “In future, I expect better effort. Get out.”

As soon as he got rid of Jim, Louis was getting demoted. Or possibly get a couple of limbs broken, he hadn't decided yet.

Oswald coughed and looked pointedly at the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

He exhaled quietly as Jim at last put a comfortable distance between them, flopping down into the plush chair. With the safety of the desk between them, Oswald felt he could breathe normally again. “I must assume you're all in a lather about the invitation to Ed and Leslie's wedding.” He picked up his own card where it lay on a stack of folders, and tossed it down again.

Jim snorted. “It's spite,” he muttered. “The last time I saw her she tried to kill me. I can't...I don't even....” He threw his hands up as if giving up on any kind of understanding of women or of life in general, then let them fall onto the chair's arms with a thump.

“Yes, spite. Good enough reason.” Oswald tapped his fingers on the armrest, then shrugged. What the hell. He supposed a drink in commiseration and shared self-pity wouldn't hurt.

Oswald got up to take another shot glass from the cabinet. Returning to the desk, he sat down and poured out two shots from the scotch bottle at his elbow.

Jim nodded his thanks, and took his, knocking it back in one go with a grimace.

Oswald peeked at him from the corner of his eyes. It was difficult to know where to put his gaze. Somehow the way Jim sprawled against the back of his chair caused his partially unbuttoned shirt to gape even wider, leaving a rather large expanse of his chest on display. Soft skin over the hard muscle of Jim's pecs.

Should he say something? Jim probably wasn't aware of the state of his shirt, but...

Damn it. He really didn't know _what_ to say. _Would you mind covering up, Jim? I can't handle the sight of your awesome bod._

The shotglass was leaving a ring on his polished desk and he busied himself with wiping it off with a napkin and shoving a hardcover book under the glass as a makeshift coaster.

Jim's sudden presence had ruined the pleasant numbness he'd previously achieved. Now his feelings bubbled to the surface again, raw and bare.

Somewhere beyond the heightened hum of Oswald's anxious libido, Jim was talking, but Oswald found his eyes straying to Jim's open shirt again until he was finally able to direct his gaze over to a spot just beyond Jim's ear. At last he could focus on what the other man was saying.

“...weren't any hard feelings, we both have to move on, but she really wants me there. He send you a note, too? Letter or something?”

Oswald met the other man's irritated frown. “Who?”

“Edward.” Jim sounded exasperated. “Thought you two had a thing. He send you a personal letter or anything?”

“No, he did not.” Oswald didn't feel like divulging the true nature of his relationship with Ed as it wasn't any of Jim's damn business anyway. He sipped at his drink, shrugging noncommitally. “So what's your point?”

“I think we should go together.”

That open shirt was really incredibly distracting. “Go where?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “To the wedding, Oswald,” he enunciated deliberately and slowly. “Jesus, you're drunk.”

“So are you,” Oswald snapped. “And I think I can do what I like in my own office! You know what, I've had it with you barging in here like you own the place, blundering around like a near-sighted elephant, so why don't you...”

At last, Jim's words sunk in.

“The wedding? With me?”

Jim's grin was lopsided as he relaxed again. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? Show 'em we've moved on.”

A number of conflicting thoughts competed for Oswald's attention, and at last he tackled the one foremost in his mind. “Moved on. But...aren't you...Why would being with me...”

Jim sighed as if annoyed by his obtuseness. “I'm bi, Oswald.”

“Since when?” Oswald shut his eyes. Stupid, and tactless.

Fortunately Jim decided to ignore his rude question. “You wanna go with me or not?” he demanded.

The brusqueness was classic Jim, nothing new there, but Oswald struggled to accept the bizarreness of the words, and their implications. He definitely shouldn't have taken that last drink. His thoughts were more muddled than ever, the alcoholic buzz making it hard to concentrate.

Here Jim was, apparently having exhausted all other options, deciding to give Oswald a go. At least for the singular purpose of attending this horrible wedding.

Oswald should have felt insulted at being chosen as a last resort, should have been offended, should have felt something other than this wonderful, absurd, totally illogical golden feeling of a path opening up before him.

In addition, the prospect of the shocked look on Ed's face when he walked into the wedding venue on the arm of James Gordon of all people was too good to pass up.

A slow, evil smile spread across his face.

Jim chuckled and pointed at him. “See? Told ya it's a good idea.”

Oswald inclined his head to acknowledge that it was, in fact, a good idea, giving Jim the credit. "Very well, I accept." He poured again, and they raised their drinks to each other in a toast, grinning like idiots. Oswald could barely control the giggles threatening to break out. Man, he'd forgotten how good it felt to have Jim as a co-conspirator.

“We'll need a cover story.”

“Easy enough,” Jim said, his smile taking on a roguish tilt that made Oswald's heart flutter. “We go on a few outings, let people see us. Word'll get around, they got informants. Just like you.” And the sanctimonious bastard actually smirked at him. Smirked.

“Oh, don't act so superior. Like the GCPD doesn't have their own stool pigeons,” Oswald said. “The ticket scalper on Union. And that ex-con you keep 'running into' at the bakery on 122nd.” He smiled at Jim's surprised look.

Jim chuckled ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck. “Touche. So, let's shake on it.” He levered himself to his feet and came around the side of the desk, hand outstretched.

Oswald stood to meet him and slowly accepted the proffered hand.

But Jim didn't step back once the deal was sealed in the time-honored tradition. “How about the rest of it?”

Oswald groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Ugh, I'm too tired to get into details. If you have any ideas for a date sometime in the next week, just give me a call, and I'll...”

“No, not that. If we're going to make people think we're a couple, we have to be convincing.” Jim stepped a little closer, close enough for Oswald to feel the heat of his body, and he reached for Oswald's hand again, rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

Oswald's breath hitched and his heart felt as if it was going to thunder its way out of his ribs.“Oh, I see. You're referring, of course, to...to physical intimacy.”

“Yeah. We should practice.”

“Oh. Well. You mean...kissing?”

“Mm-hm.” Jim's eyes flickered down to his mouth, then back up to meet his gaze, and Oswald felt a blush flood his entire body.

He swallowed hard, furious at himself for blushing, for the tremor in his voice, while at the same time increasingly scared out of his wits. "Um, sure. Why not? If you want to," he said carelessly.

By sheer force of will Oswald met Jim's eyes, though he was unable to keep himself from darting a glance once again down to Jim's lips, his neck, his partially visible chest.

Oswald looked away. He really couldn't, not until...

“Your shirt,” he murmured, waving a hand vaguely in Jim's direction.

Jim glanced down, and, mercifully, at last, buttoned up.

When Oswald met Jim's eyes again, the other man raised his eyebrows slightly as if asking if everything was satisfactory.

Oswald couldn't speak. He could only nod, feeling as if the floor were about to drop out from under him.

Jim touched his hand to Oswald's chin, lightly holding him with thumb and forefinger, and moved in.

The rest of the world disappeared. Nothing else existed but Jim and the touch of his hand on his chin, on the way his other hand slid around the small of Oswald's back as if to hold him in place, and oh God, did Oswald need that extra bit of support because his legs just about folded.

His hands came to rest against Jim's biceps, and, oh God, they were as firm and lovely as he'd always suspected. Well, he'd been on the receiving end of Jim's temper often enough, he might as well get some enjoyment out of the other man's muscles for once.

Jim's mouth moved against his, slowly, exploringly, and Oswald did his best to mimic his movements, though it was a little more difficult to breathe than he'd expected, and it didn't help that most of the air had rushed out of his lungs when Jim took hold of him, so all too soon Oswald was forced to draw in an embarrassingly large gulp of air.

Jim drew his head back and his hand dropped from Oswald's neck to lie on his shoulder. Oswald tightened his grip on Jim's arms, sucking in air, feeling slightly dizzy, wanting, needing more of this.

Jim watched him with a little smile on his face, looking altogether too smug, apparently pleased at having left Oswald breathless.

Oswald swallowed hard and set his jaw. Jim had Oswald beat as far as experience went, and he so obviously knew what he was doing, but Oswald refused to give him the satisfaction of swooning and becoming a biddable lapdog panting for more.

Although Oswald definitely, desperately wanted more. It was pathetic how badly he wanted, but no need to let Jim know that.

“I'm a little rusty,” Oswald said defiantly. "Could use more practice."

Jim hummed in agreement. “Guess we better."

He moved in again. Oswald slid his hands up Jim's arms, over his shoulders, until they came to rest on the back of his head, Oswald's fingers sinking into his short hair.

Jim's hands on his back smoothed up and down, occasionally pressing between his shoulder blades or along his spine. And all the while there was the movement of lips, of Jim gently seizing his bottom lip with teeth, occasionally his tongue darting out, which Oswald clumsily did his best to reciprocate.

It was a little easier, now, to coordinate his breathing with the press and release of their lips, and Oswald didn't feel so much that he was gulping for air like a landed fish.

Eventually, Jim drew back with a soft wet sound. “We good?”

Oswald re-adjusted his sleeves. "Yes, well." He cleared his throat. "I suppose that was sufficient." He did his best to fix Jim with a cold, haughty look to regain some footing and let Jim know he wasn't going to be turned into a pile of mush just with a little lip-locking.

Jim, as usual, appeared unaffected by Oswald's attempt at coolness, and gave him one more peck on the lips. “Call you later.”

He walked out, taking Oswald's heart with him.

Oswald lightly touched his fingertips to his lips. Everything was different now, and he felt as if every one of his molecules was slowly being infused with warmth, spreading outward from wherever Jim touched him, forever changed. Jim kissed him so tenderly...he never would have expected...

Oswald sat behind the desk and clapped his hands over his mouth, giggling. His first real kiss, and shared with Jim. And why shouldn't he take pleasure in it, to bask in the afterglow of Jim's attentions?

Because it was illusory. It wasn't real.

With a groan he dragged his hands down his face, his euphoria plummeting. All that making out was just pretend, part of the ruse they were concocting to stick it to their respective exes. What had he gotten himself into? 

Well, perhaps he merely needed to get into the spirit of the thing. He was going to be spending a lot more time in Jim's company, so it would almost be like they were really dating. Almost. He shouldn't take it so seriously. Yes, that was the right attitude, just relax and enjoy himself for once, he could do that. 

Maybe if he told himself that often enough he'd believe it.

\- - - - -

Jim heaved a sigh as he made it past Oswald's granite-faced thugs and out onto the street, exhilarated at how much progress he'd already made.

It'd been touch and go for a little while there, trying to get in to see Oswald. Jim lingered in the club, trying to avoid the attention of Oswald's henchmen, any one of whom might be under orders to give him the boot.

And then one of the goons guarding Oswald's door left, and he took a chance, striding up and declaring, "I'm hear to see Penguin."

A technique he learned from Bullock, using words that implied he had an appointment although he didn't specifically say so, and the thug hesitated. Jim didn't give him time to think, but swept past him and went in, impulsively undoing half the buttons on his shirt as he crossed the room to where Oswald had nodded off over a half-empty bottle.

A cheap trick, and he'd probably feel like a bit of a slut tomorrow. God knew what the henchman thought. But it worked, that was the important thing, keeping Oswald unbalanced and possibly...dare he hoped... intrigued?

At least it stopped Oswald from throwing Jim out on his ass right away, and gave him enough time to explain his plan. His proposition. His big stupid cover story in which he could get close to Oswald again, because Jim couldn't care less about the damn wedding.

What he wanted was Oswald. Jim was done pretending not to care about him.

He'd crossed too many lines, he knew that, trampled Oswald's forgiving nature once too often, until the other man wouldn't have anything to do with him.

This was his last chance. Date Oswald under the pretext of the wedding, convince him that Jim had changed, and hopefully, Oswald would smile at him again the way he always used to. Or as close to that as possible. There wasn't really any way to regain what they'd had in the early days of their association, too much water under the bridge.

But Jim hoped nevertheless that something could be salvaged from the ashes, and maybe Oswald would like him again. 

Jim felt a tingle go up his spine as he remembered their kiss, how Oswald was the one who suggested another. That had to mean something, didn't it? Jjim had always been better at actions than fancy words anyway, and he would be the first to admit he wasn't the greatest at coming up with master plans, but so far this one seemed to be working.

He needed a little more time. And practice. He'd gladly give Oswald all the practice he wanted.


	2. Keeping Up Appearances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating change from Mature to Explicit.

This was a mistake, a horrible mistake.

Oswald fretted and fidgeted in the back seat of his luxurious town car en route to meet Jim for lunch, wondering what on earth had possessed him to agree to this insane plan.

What was Jim up to? Surely there were any number of eager young things more than willing to date the dashing James Gordon. Or pretend to date. Oswald didn't believe for a second the man didn't have any other options.

Then again, Jim was secretive and close-mouthed about his personal life on the best of days, so perhaps having to explain the situation to an acquaintance was distasteful to him. With Oswald there was no need for tedious explanations. It could safely be taken for granted that Oswald already knew all about Jim's personal life, at least the broad strokes.

Besides, Oswald thought viciously, Jim wasn't getting any younger and he hadn't been dating anyone lately, so perhaps he was losing his charm. Perhaps the great Jim Gordon and his scowls and near suicidal work ethic wasn't quite as attractive a prospect as they once were.

Oh, who was he kidding? Jim wasn't quite forty, in the prime of his life. If anything, he was even more ruggedly handsome than when Oswald first met him.

A nervous fluttering started in his chest, as if he needed the reminder that his feelings for Jim had never really gone away no matter how deeply he buried them.

He had gotten better at controlling his hopelessly unrequited love, transforming it into competition laced with spite, because he'd be damned before he let Jim know that with a few well-chosen words Oswald would be putty in his hands.

Jim must know, he thought, fuming. Surely he must know on some level, despite his outward show of obliviousness. Surely the man realized the effect he had on Oswald, how Oswald made allowances for Jim that he would never grant anyone else, how he sought Jim out when the shit hit the fan.

That was it, wasn't it? Jim damn well did know and he was using Oswald as a sop to his own ego.

If the good captain thought he could buy Oswald with a few smiles and kisses, then he had another think coming. Indignation rising, he had half a mind to tell Jim he'd seen right through his pathetic act.

Oswald's car pulled up to the restaurant. A respectable place, not too fancy, skirting the edge of the Narrows so they were certain to be witnessed by at least a few of Lee and Ed's lackeys.

Jim was waiting under the awning, and he looked up expectantly at the sound of the car, coming to meet Oswald getting out.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in to give him a kiss on the mouth, briefly enveloping Oswald in a hint of surprisingly expensive cologne, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they were a real couple.

God, Jim's lips were even better than his alcohol-fuzzed memory recalled. Soft yet firm. Warm.

Those lips were smiling at him.

His heart gave the most ridiculous lurch and the tension uncoiled from his spine, leaving him weak-kneed. He braced against his cane, holding fast to the shreds of his dignity.

“That's your idea of a proper greeting? 'Hey'?” Oswald said, his mouth on automatic, because he had to say something instead of standing there gaping.

Jim quirked an eyebrow at him and straightened his shoulders. “I beg your pardon. Good afternoon.” Taking Oswald's hand he bowed over it to brush his lips over Oswald's knuckles and damn if his eyes weren't twinkling.

Oswald hadn't worn gloves and warmth flooded his entire being at Jim's touch. He snatched his hand back clicking his tongue reproachfully, but his heart gave a little flip. Which was ridiculous.

“That is a greeting for ladies,” he said, sounding absurdly prim. At least his voice didn't shake.

Jim shrugged, unrepentant. “Gotta put on a show.” And he looked so goddamn roguish it just wasn't fair.

Though he stood still, Oswald felt something within him shifting, reaching out to Jim, falling into the familiar steps of alliance. He knew how this went. Despite the bickering and conflict, whatever the difficulties, when they united for a common goal they always worked exceedingly well together.

Underneath it awakened the old hope, the yearning for connection, foolish as it was. If this was all he was allowed to have of Jim, he would take it.

That this could be their most dangerous alliance yet was something he would mull over later.

Oswald cleared his throat. “I trust you made reservations?”

“Indeed I most certainly did. Shall we proceed, sir?” Jim asked, eyebrows quirked endearingly.

Oswald rolled his eyes and swatted him on the arm, unable to repress the grin splitting his face. Normally Jim wouldn't have called Oswald 'sir' if he had a gun to his head. Where the hell did this playful son of a bitch come from? “Only if you quit the posh talk. Talk normally, for God's sake.”

Jim chuckled and offered him his arm. “Shall we?”

“I am perfectly capable of walking into a building without assistance,” he said loftily, and, lifting his chin, proceeded inside.

Somewhere in the back of his mind there was the nagging thought he was forgetting something, something about being bought with kisses and smiles, but he brushed it aside. Wasn't important.

\- - - -

His hopes weren't high, but the food wasn't terrible. The wine was acceptable. And the company was really quite lovely, once Oswald got over the strangeness of sitting down with Jim with no other agenda than socializing.

Jim was damn near bubbly.

The only thing that marred his enjoyment was a rising tide of anxiety.

He kept thinking about how he'd refused to take Jim's arm to walk into the restaurant. The odd thing was, it gave Oswald no sense of victory at all, but he'd needed to do something to keep his head. Couldn't very well let Jim take control, to dictate every movement, every touch.

It didn't even bother Jim in the slightest, Oswald thought resentfully, as they ordered their meals and managed some semblance of small talk. Like it didn't matter to him one way or the other.

Oswald had deliberately passed up the chance to touch Jim, and it was eating him up. Which was stupid. Instead of denying Jim what he'd wanted, Oswald was the one who felt something had been taken from him.

It wasn't like it was the end, he chided himself as Jim paid for the meal.

There would be plenty of other opportunities, he thought, as they strolled into a nearby park. Plenty of time for those little niceties enjoyed by real couples.

The only problem was that Oswald didn't know how to do casual touching.

He didn't know what would be okay and what would earn a rebuff, and Jim didn't offer his arm again, but appeared perfectly content to walk by Oswald's side.

Oswald didn't know how to bring it up the whole arm holding thing without sounding pathetically needy.

Should he just...reach out?

The clouds were drifting apart to let some sunshine through to warm the air. Jim took off his trench coat, folding it over one arm, and loosened his tie to unbutton the top of his shirt.

Oswald pulled his eyes away, fixing them firmly on the path instead. The sight of Jim's bared throat was stirring up memories from the night he'd stormed into Oswald's office, drunk.

His elbow bumped into Jim's every few steps. Perhaps that explained the tension in his back, the nervous fluttering in his stomach, he couldn't seem to find the wherewithall to follow the curve of the path.

“If I were still mayor I'd give an earful to the parks department about these paths,” he blurted, unable to contain his irritation any longer.

Jim blinked at the outburst, then shrugged. “Looks okay to me.”

“Too narrow,” Oswald griped. “One should be able to walk side by side without hindrance.”

Jim gave him a long look, then held out his arm. “Easy solution,” he murmured. “Besides, I think we got a tail.”

From long experience, Oswald didn't foolishly look around, but he felt heat creep into his cheeks. He'd been so busy worrying about whether or not he should touch Jim he'd completely forgotten they were supposed to be putting on an act for any would-be spies.

He tucked his cane under his left arm so he could slip his right hand into the crook of Jim's elbow. “Who is it? The beggar from the pawn shop?”

“Yeah.”

“I've seen him before. One of Ed's people.” He snorted. “Thinks he's being clever with that false beard.”

Jim laid his hand over Oswald's as they continued on, running a glance over Oswald, his eyes flickering up and down briefly. “At least now we're in step.”

Oswald flushed under the heat of Jim's gaze. That low rumble. That glance. He was reasonably sure Jim had never looked at him quite so appreciatively before.

God, it really was so much better, walking on Jim's arm instead of holding back.

Maybe, just maybe, he could be allowed to enjoy himself during this farce. He could be happy for a little while, even if it was just pretend. He inhaled deeply and straightened a little more, and, as ridiculous as it was, the air felt fresher and the sun shone brighter.

Birds chirped, ducks quacked, a few squirrels dashed around. On an adjoining path up ahead, a group of joggers headed toward the lake. Pigeons clustered around an old woman tossing bread crumbs. It was all so absurdly idyllic, and he was sharing a stroll with the man he adored.

A few steps further on and they were under cover of trees, the cool shade welcome.

Jim glanced around, suddenly conspiratorial. “C'mere,” he said, and tugged Oswald behind a massive oak tree.

“Put this here for a second?” Jim asked, taking Oswald's cane to lean it against the trunk, dropping the trench coat next to it.

Jim's next act was to put a hand low on his back and pull him close. Oswald's hands settled onto Jim's shoulders as if they belonged there, his heart beating faster. He didn't know what to say or what to do about the hungry look on Jim's face.

“You wanna practice?” Jim rumbled.

Oswald 's mind raced. They were mostly hidden from casual view by the trees, but anyone determined to snoop would be able to see what they were doing.

However, only the smallest part of Oswald's brain was concerned with that nonsense. His world narrowed to the warm circle of Jim's arms and how the ground was shifting under his feet so Jim was practically all that held him up, Jim's breath on his face, the hint of cologne wafting over him, the way Jim licked his lips and his eyes swept over Oswald's face.

“Sure,” Oswald said, though it was more of a squeak, and Jim closed the short distance between them.

\- - - - -

Wanna practice? Hey, how about some practice? Pardon me, Jim, I don't believe we've practiced yet.

It was a little code for the two of them.

It was so stupid, so silly. Oswald loved it.

Over the next month they met two or three times a week, depending on their schedules, and he grew to anticipate Jim's sidelong glances as the atmosphere between them grew heavy with expectation, as if Jim were studying him and assessing his mood, to decide what Oswald needed.

And, inevitably, wonderfully, Jim would decide that what Oswald needed was to be taken to some out of the way corner to be kissed, long and slow and lingering.

Almost lovingly.

Oswald had no idea Jim was such a good actor.

The constant sensual, physical contact was like water to a dying man in the desert, and combined with the full force of Jim's charms and their collaboration against their exes (though technically Ed wasn't an ex, but never mind) and Oswald was a goner, his long-covered love for Jim stripped bare so he was more smitten than ever.

Hell, Oswald didn't know Jim even possessed any damn charms.

Jim took it on faith that he possessed an open invitation to invade Oswald's personal space any time he liked, which might have offended Oswald and for a time reminded him of how Jim so often took it for granted that he could barge into Oswald's life whenever he pleased, but instead Oswald found he had to work extra hard to keep from grinning like a complete idiot.

No need to let Jim know how thoroughly these perfectly simple gestures made him giddy.

Because occasionally he would remember that this was a temporary arrangement, and for his very survival he would do well to remember that.  
Their dates were noted by the appropriate spies, indicating their collaboration was quite satisfactory, as Oswald was alerted by his own network of informants. He liked to keep tabs on his allies and opponents in any case, and now he knew that Ed and Lee knew that he and Jim were an item.

It occurred to Oswald that, technically speaking, there really was no need for them to sneak off to out of the way corners to make out. Their casual touching and brief kisses in public lended more than enough evidence to the ruse that they were a couple, but Oswald would rather have gouged out his own eyeballs than point that out to Jim.

Oswald became bolder, taking full advantage of the opportunity to feel the shape of Jim's head under his delightfully soft hair, or wrap his arms around his broad shoulders, or slip his hands around his waist.

Eventually he grew brave enough to reach beneath Jim's suit jacket so there was only the thin shirt between his hands and the fine torso underneath.

Jim didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was the one who started it, and Oswald followed his lead that this was acceptable territory for exploration. Keeping it above the waist.

The kissing, though. The play of lips, some tongue, teeth, seizing gently, adding just the right amount of friction. Sometimes a lot of tongue.  
Oswald never tired of cataloguing all the ways Jim kissed him, though he took pains to remind himself that he mustn't read too much into it.

The make-out sessions were merely something along the lines of exercise for Jim. Oswald knew this. Jim clearly enjoyed them, he had to, the way he kept initiating them, but Oswald understood there was no emotional weight to it. Jim enjoyed the physical stimulation, nothing more.

\- - - - -

Not that the tensions of all the times they'd clashed went away completely. To ignore their tumultuous history would have been impossible, but to Oswald's pleasant surprise, their jabs and jibes were mellowed, made companionable in the remembering.

Their individual experiences became new fodder for conversation, and Oswald was inordinately pleased by every new hitherto unknown tale from Jim about cases satisfactorily closed, or amusing tales about the antics of other police officers.

Oswald found that for his part he was talking to Jim about things he'd never told anyone before.

Their visit to the classic car show brought him face to face, so to speak, with a car that uncannily resembled the one in which Maroni had trapped him and nearly killed him.

He began to comment on how he'd once seen this sort of car from inside a car crusher, and then remembered Jim was unaware of certain events in Oswald's first chaotic rise to power. He clammed up.

Too late. Jim's curiosity was piqued, and he gleefully insisted on hearing the tale. “You can't just drop something like that and not finish,” he said, grinning expectantly. “Come on. Spill.”

Oswald mulled it over, then shrugged. It didn't particularly bother him. He'd survived it, after all. By leaving out the events which led up to Maroni wanting his head, it actually could be entertaining.

And so the time he'd nearly gotten killed in a car crusher somehow transformed into an amusing anecdote as he related it to Jim, and he described it so outrageously that Jim was roaring with laughter, a genuine belly laugh he'd never heard out of the man before.

“You called him on your cell,” Jim gasped, “from inside the car.”

Oswald giggled, pleased that he'd reduced Jim to near incoherency. “I had to do something,” he said primly. “My minutes were almost up.” Which sent Jim over the edge again, and it was some time before he could talk again.

Afterwards, while waiting for Oswald's car, they ducked around the corner of an ice cream shop. For practicing, of course.

“Man, you've got balls,” Jim said as he pulled him close, and there was such a tone of admiration lacing through the amusement, along with something else in Jim's voice that it sent a shiver through Oswald down to his toes, the crudity of the phrase igniting all kinds of filthy thoughts.

Their kissing session was the most heated one yet, Jim's hands skirting dangerously low on his waist, the press of his body more urgent as he embraced him, until Oswald could barely contain his own skyrocketing desire. Shared laughter was a more powerful aphrodisiac than he ever would have suspected.

It was with no small amount of difficulty that he extracted himself from Jim that evening but nonetheless he did it, babbling about having important meetings the next day and he needed to call it a night.

It was a miserable ride back to his empty house because his clothes no longer fit right, and he wasted no time getting to his bedroom, flinging off his jacket, yanking at his tie, and then giving up on getting decently undressed and unzipping his pants to close his hand over his erection as he braced against the dresser.

He imagined that they hadn't stopped. That he'd brought Jim here, to his place, that Jim's mouth was working its way along his jaw and down his neck, to nip and suck, the kisses growing in intensity.

The memory of Jim crowding him into the wall consumed him as he imagined Jim's hands running over him, touching him here and here and here.

God, he wanted Jim's hands on him, he needed Jim, he needed...

He groaned at the wave of pleasure that washed over him and his mind blanked out.

Gradually his racing heart slowed its frantic pace and he was able to make his way unsteadily to the bathroom to clean up.

He knew that he'd never cross that line. And it wasn't the prospect of rejection that stopped him.

Jim might accept. He might take what was offered, eager enough for a sexual escapade, but Oswald knew it would mean nothing to the man. How could Oswald possibly survive that? To feel Jim's hands and mouth and body against his own naked skin, knowing it was a one-time experience never to be repeated?

\- - - - -

For their final date, they went to the movies the night before the big day of the wedding to see "Smiles of a Summer Night."

Oswald dressed with care, holding at bay the melancholy growing in his chest.

This was his last chance to have Jim to himself before the man entered the presence of the incomparable Lee Thompkins. Never mind that she would be marrying Ed, Jim would probably not be able to take his eyes off her.

Oswald had been a nice distraction, no doubt, probably a convenient way to pass the time before Jim got to see Lee again.

Huh. Come to think of it, Oswald had barely given thought to Ed over the past few weeks. He felt oddly grateful to Jim for that. A little bright spot of gratitude within the grief of losing Jim altogether, of never having Jim's love, though it was glorious to pretend for a little while.

Well. Anyway. Oswald decided not to think about that right now.

He would like to enjoy these last moments with Jim as much as possible, and getting to see one of his favorite movies ought to help.

\- - - - - - -

Oswald found Jim scowling at the movie poster, clearly concerned by Oswald's choice of film.

“I realize you may have trouble broadening your horizons,” he said calmly, winding his arm into Jim's as had become habit, “but really, must you be so cranky?”

Jim huffed out a breath and attempted to arrange his face into something less dour. “Bergman,” he said. “Isn't that kind of depressing?”

“Normally you would be right, but this happens to be a satirical comedy.”

He giggled at Jim's dubious expression. “It'll be fine. Shouldn't disturb your worldview overmuch.”

Almost as soon as the lights went down, Jim's hand crept onto his knee.

Oswald tensed. He had, in fact, been looking forward to some necking, but so soon? Didn't people usually wait until the movie was well under way?

And Jim had never felt him up like this before. Never below the belt.

Oswald cast him a quick apologetic smile as he lifted Jim's hand off his knee, firmly placing his hand on the armrest.

He directed his attention to the screen, clasping his hands in his lap, feeling uneasy. Was Jim about to suggest taking this further? To ask for sex? Their collaboration was nearly at an end, so maybe Jim felt like having a quick roll in the hay, a casual encounter to top it off.

With a sense of bleak regard, Oswald found that he was strong enough after all to say no. He would not be used.

Once again he had the sense of a hollow victory, as if something had been snatched from him rather him unequivocally rejecting it. Still, he couldn't do it, not if Jim begged for it, a laughable notion in and of itself.

He stared at the screen. One of his favorite movies. Too late he realized he'd never be able to watch it again without thinking about Jim.

Something brushed against his shoulder. Jim was draping his arm over the back of Oswald's chair.

The absurdity of the situation overwhelmed him and for several moments Oswald felt entirely inappropriate laughter threatening to bubble out.  
He sobered. It looked like he was the one who was going to have to let Jim down easy.

Jim leaned close and nuzzled at the sensitive spot just under Oswald's ear.

Oswald swallowed past the lump in his throat. Jim knew certain private things about him that no one else knew and would never know. Just as he knew that Jim was ticklish, and liked having his hair stroked. These new experiences, the familiarity with another's body, would be something else that Oswald would miss.

Oswald clenched his teeth and pushed him off. “Not now,” he whispered, more snappishly than he'd intended. “Watch.”

Jim straightened up with a little sigh but kept his arm where it was, unfazed by Oswald's crabbiness. And damn it all, would Oswald ever find any one else who accepted his moods so well? This entire night was destined to be an endless taunt from the universe on what he was losing and would never have.

“Who's that?” Jim whispered.

“Her husband.”

“What? I thought it was her dad.”

Oswald snorted. “Hardly.”

“He's twice her age.”

“Very astute.”

“Then who's that other guy? I thought that was her husband.”

“The son.”

“Her husband's son?”

“Yes, hence the dilemma,” Oswald said, and despite his inner turmoil, he chuckled. Jim sounded so scandalized.

“I thought you said it was a comedy.”

“There're subtitles, for heaven's sake,” Oswald whispered in exasperation. “Can't you read?”

Crossing his arms with a huff, Oswald refocussed on the movie. After a moment or two, Jim withdrew his arm.

The sounds of the movie washed over him but Oswald had the uneasy sensation of having put his foot in his mouth, a feeling that he'd stepped on a land mine and he needed to be very careful about moving.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jim staring fixedly ahead, expressionless, his hands limp in his lap.

Shit.

He knew very well Jim could read. There were, however, levels of aptitude.

He was risking Jim getting mad at him, but that was nothing new, and Oswald couldn't sit there for two hours and say nothing.

He turned to collect his cane and coat from the next seat. “Let's get out of here.”

\- - - - - -

In the diner next door, they ordered tea and coffee, carefully polite to each other, Jim stiff and reserved, and Oswald wondered if he was opening himself up to the man's anger. Jim was clearly embarrassed.

Oswald didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but neither did he want to brush aside his own rudeness, no matter how inadvertant.

Oswald folded his hands on the table. “I didn't mean to embarrass you.”

Jim shrugged one shoulder and shifted in his seat. “Not a big deal. You didn't know. I can read, just...not very well.”

Oswald grimaced. “Still. If I'd known there was any difficulty...”

Jim waved his hand, staving off Oswald's apology. “It's all right.” He worked his jaw then lifted his chin as if bracing for a blow, and Oswald wondered if this was the first time he'd ever talked about it.

“The words were moving a little too fast, and some fonts give me trouble,” Jim said. “I guess that sounds kind of stupid.”

“Not at all,” Oswald said, frowning, disliking the notion that Jim would have ever felt doubts about his intelligence. He thought about how the white letters of the subtitles in the black and white film getting washed out by the background picture probably hadn't helped either, but he refrained from saying so. He wouldn't presume to lecture Jim about his disability.

Newer productions used yellow lettering for subtitles, which quite frankly Oswald found preferable, but he didn't feel now was the time to comment on it.

A rueful smile crossed Jim's face. “I usually do a better job hiding it, but you surprised me. My first thought was 'how did he find out?' Hell, even Harvey doesn't know. You have a way of finding out...well, everything. The smartest guy in the room.”

Oswald ducked his head, unaccountably blushing and feeling a pleased smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He picked up his tea as cover. “Present company excluded. There's a reason you're the best detective in the city.”

“Tell that to my teachers,” Jim said, picking up his coffee mug.

Oswald chuckled as the last of the tension eased. “Line 'em up, I'll give them what for.”

Clearly more to the story here, if Jim was making light of the difficulties he apparently suffered in his school days, but he let Jim steer the conversation into more light-hearted talk.

\- - - - - -

The night drew to a close and Jim escorted him home.

It was very quiet in the car, their easy conversation from the diner fading. Oswald pensive and filled with dread. He hardly dared look at Jim, who was likewise quiet.

He busied himself with the keys, concentrating on getting the right one into the lock, though his hands felt like they weren't attached to his arms properly.

Jim laid a hand on his forearm and Oswald forced himself to face him.

He'd thought about how this would end, dreading the moment when Jim might ask to go to bed with him and Oswald would have to say no.  
It was some kind of cosmic joke, it really was, that Oswald should end up in the unthinkable position of having to turn down Jim. At the very least he expected to hear that silly phrase for the last time. They hadn't yet practice-kissed this evening.

He was taken aback by Jim's expression.

Jim was so serious, something too earnest in his quiet gaze that Oswald was unable to interpret, and Oswald knew that at the first touch of Jim's lips he was going to burst into tears and that would not do.

Jim took half a step toward him, opening his mouth to speak, and Oswald raised his hand to stave him off.

“I really must apologize, James, I'm feeling extremely tired and must take my leave.” He plastered on a smile though his face felt like it was made of wax. “You understand.”

Jim rubbed his neck. “Yeah. Big day tomorrow. With Ed and Lee.”

Oswald's teeth ground together briefly. “Quite,” he said, amazed that he sounded so normal.

“Okay. Good night, Oswald.” Jim leaned in, clearly expecting a quick good night kiss.

Oswald moved back, turning the knob and stepping smartly through the gap in one quick movement, tossing out a brisk “Good night, James," as he shut the door.

Strength left him and he leaned against the door, hugging his stomach and pressing his hand to his mouth to keep from shattering into a million pieces.

After several agonizing moments, he heard Jim moving away down the walk, at first shuffling, then growing stronger as the man increased his stride, until they faded with distance.

His hands dropped to his sides. The tears should have been falling freely by this point, but instead they seemed to have lodged in his throat.

Their collaboration was not quite over, they still had to put in an appearance tomorrow, and Oswald was determined to fulfill the bargain he'd made. He was a man of his word.

But there would be no more dates. No more witty banter or shared glances, no more practice-kissing.

After this tiresome wedding was over, no more Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene from season 1, where Maroni tries to execute Oswald via car crusher, was one of those glorious moments that made me realize Oswald was my favorite character and the main reason for watching Gotham.


	3. Tell Me Love is Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Features angst, some melodrama, a clearing of the air, and an encounter with Jim's towel.

 

The original plan was for Jim to pick up Oswald and they'd go to the church together. But as the hour grew closer and Jim was getting dressed, Oswald texted him and said he was running late. That they should arrive separately.

That stopped him cold. He called Oswald back but was sent straight to voicemail, and he would've been angry at getting the brush-off if he hadn't felt so panicked.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He should have talked to him earlier, met with him, told him to forget about the damn wedding, told Oswald how he really felt. That they should keep seeing each other.

Maybe Oswald wouldn't show. Was he unable to bear seeing Edward walk down the aisle with another?

The thought was like a stab to the chest.

He wanted to drive to Oswald's house, but he might not even be there, and then it would be a wasted trip, especially if, as Jim suspected, Oswald was avoiding him. Jim could waste time running around between Oswald's house and club and still not find him.

So here he was stuck waiting in his car near the damn church, feeling like he was on a damn stakeout.

A limo pulled up to the front of the church, and Lee emerged from the back. Out of habit of picking up details rather out of any interest, he noted that she was wearing a conservative peach colored dress, practically a business suit, form-fitting and without flair, other than white gloves and a hint of something white at her neck. Didn't sparkle like diamonds would, so he was guessing they were pearls.

He checked the time. 5:58 pm. He hadn't seen Ed arrive, but maybe the man had gotten there before Jim, or gone in the back.

Unless he ditched Lee at the altar, Jim thought grimly, but with no sense of amusement. Despite her occasional machinations against him, he didn't bear any particular ill-will toward her. In any case it seemed safe enough to get out, now that he'd successfully avoided running into anyone else he might know, so he strode up to the church, craning his neck as he looked up and down the street.

He paced up and down the sidewalk. Checked the time again. 6:00 pm. Shit.

An usher at the top of the granite steps leading to the big double doors glanced at him, then began to take away the doorstops to close them.

Oswald's town car at last turned down the street and double parked next to the limo. Jim exhaled, and strode over to meet him.

Oswald came out, impeccably dressed in a pressed black suit with an embroidered purple waistcoat, hair styled back from his forehead into sharp peaks.

He was breathtaking. Any irritation Jim might have felt by Oswald almost ditching him was swept away. “Wow,” he blurted.

Oswald's head snapped up, his eyes finally meeting Jim's, and now Jim saw how pale he was.

“You all right?” he asked, stepping over and offering his arm.

Oswald's smile was perfectly polite and aloof as he stepped onto the curb with a click of his cane and continued on to the church, ignoring the offerred arm.

“I'm perfectly fine, James. Let's proceed. They're about to begin,” he added, nodding at the ushers who had paused in the act of closing the double doors, watching them.

That was it? No other greeting, no explanation.

After the past few weeks of getting past Oswald's sharp edges, Jim felt like he'd been slapped.

Oswald swept by him and climbed determinedly up the short flight of granite steps, back stiff, a silent warning to Jim that he shouldn't offer his arm again.

They were ushered to their seats just in time. The first attendants began their march down the aisle, but Jim barely noticed what was happening.

Oswald coolly watched the procession, sitting close enough to Jim for their shoulders to almost touch, but paying no more attention to him than to any of the other guests seated around them.

Jim's hands curled into fists in his lap. Was Oswald mad at him? He thought back over the events of the previous evening, ran over the agonizing details of how he'd botched the good night kiss, the flash of anger that had passed over Oswald's face when Jim stupidly mentioned Ed.

He surreptitiously glanced at Oswald's profile, tried to discern some emotion other than polite boredom as the rest of the wedding party passed by on the way to the altar, two bridesmaids and two groomsmen, people unknown to Jim, though he thought he recognized one of the women as someone who frequented Cherry's.

He could have whispered something to Oswald about how they weren't exactly presenting a united front and maybe Oswald should thaw out a little, but Jim didn't give a flying fuck anymore about what kind of picture they were presenting.

Did Oswald still have feelings for Ed? Was that why he was shutting Jim out?

The bridal march started up, and Jim dutifully stood up along with Oswald and the other guests to pay homage to Lee as she walked briskly up the aisle.

Jim did his best to compose his face into a polite smile, the same as Oswald was doing with such ease, but anxiety made his hands twitch, Oswald's aloofness digging at him.

Once Lee reached the altar and people began sitting down again, he took Oswald's hand in his own, determined to break through the coldness, to get some kind of reaction out of the man.

Oswald snatched his hand away as if burned. “Pardon me, James,” he murmured, and stood up again, leaving the pew, clambering past three other guests.

People glanced after him as he went out, lurching in his hurry.

Jim's stomach tightened into knots, his chest constricted, a flush of anger quickly followed by cold despair washing through him that Oswald felt such a need to get away from him.

He got up to go after him, crawling past people's knees, muttering apologies. He couldn't let Oswald go so easily.

From the altar, Ed glanced over his shoulder, his eyes following Oswald's retreating back for a second before he met Jim's gaze. And smiled.

Ed was damn lucky Jim was in too much of a hurry to stop and punch his lights out.

Jim had let things slide for too long, he should have been upfront in the first place instead of playing these games, he was no good at them, not like the goddamn Riddler.

Who Oswald apparently still had feelings for.

Fuck it. Might as well see it through to the bitter end.

\- - - - - - - -

Oswald took a deep breath around the ache in his chest as he got out from the oppressive atmosphere. Well, that pretty much ruined the facade that he and Jim were dating, he thought glumly as he hitched down the stairs. Weeks of effort, down the drain. And it had been such pleasurable effort, too. Getting to spend time with Jim, actually getting to know a little more about that impossible man, to touch him, to...

Never mind. He was paying for it.

After that undignified escape, Oswald had guaranteed that his next meeting with Ed would be pure torture. Their paths would cross eventually. They always did, whether he wanted it or not.

He made it safely to the bottom of the steps. The sound of Jim pushing through the heavy wooden door made Oswald's shoulders tighten of their own accord.

Because of course it was Jim. He'd half expected the man to come chasing after him anyway out of some misguided chivalry, and he didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. He recognized the intake of breath, and how crazy was that, that he knew Jim so well he could recognize the sound of his damn breathing?

Jim came to stand beside him as Oswald furiously texted his driver and willed the car to materialize immediately.

Which, of course, it most unhelpfully failed to do. His driver wasn't expecting to be needed so soon, and had gotten permission to get some dinner.

“I must apologize for not fulfilling our bargain, James,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed on a point in the distance. Nevertheless, Jim's face was in his peripheral vision, and he could imagine the scowl on Jim's face, and hs heart twisted with an extra little pang at his failure to keep his end of the deal. Jim had every right to be angry with him.

Oswald set his jaw, prepared to endure the man's wrath. He most certainly was not going to cry. Not here. For once he wasn't going to humiliate himself and he squared his shoulders with renewed determination. “I realize this is terribly bad manners, but I hope you will convey my regards to the happy couple. You may say that I am ill.”

“Are you?”

“You may say so.” His hand tightened on the head of the cane, hoping that Jim would quit prying for once.

Jim stepped closer, close enough that Oswald felt the heat of his body.

“You shouldn't have to wait for a car,” Jim said, his voice so reasonable it was absolutely infuriating.

Oswald shot him a glare, and immediately regretted it. Instead of the condemnation he expected, Jim's eyes were...sad. Worried. 

Oswald's heart seized. This would be a lot easier if Jim lost his temper so Oswald didn't have to be the hysterical one for a change, the irrational, overemotional one, always making a scene.

It was damned inconsiderate, that's what it was, Oswald fumed as he turned on his heel and walked down the sidewalk.

Jim caught up with him. “Look, I can give you a ride home.”

Intolerable. Jim was taking away every opportunity for a dignified escape, he was running out of defenses, he could hardly break into a run, how ridiculous would that be?

Oswald whirled, lashed out with his last weapon, words. “Why can't you leave me alone? I don't have time for this nonsense, I can't do it, okay? I know this was supposed to be fun and flirty and casual, whatever, but guess what, I can't do casual, wow, what a shocker! No use pretending, if you must know. I feel like I've been walking around with an open wound all day, I am dying, Jim, dying by inches, bleeding out, and you can't even see.”

Oswald pounded a fist on his own chest, a useless, futile gesture, it did nothing to distract from the heartache, but there was nothing to attack, nothing to get his hands on, nothing to throw or break on this wretched street, except a random car window, perhaps.

“I can't stand to be around you anymore,” Oswald said, and his damn voice was breaking, his self-control disintegrating. “I can't simply sit quietly by your side, pretending.”

Jim's eyes widened, the color draining from his face, as stricken as if Oswald had stabbed him, and for the life of him he could not figure out what Jim was getting so upset about, but he felt a mean, petty satisfaction that at least Jim wasn't getting out of this scott free.

Let him see. Let him see the price of his little revenge scheme. At least Oswald could make it sting for a few moments before Jim went back to pining after Leslie.

To his fury, a sob made his breath hitch and hot tears coursed down his face. Could he just do this one thing, and get through this horrific speech without humilliating himself? Apparently not.

“How can I bear to be around you when it's not real? You don't really love me, it's all pretend. I can't go through with it any longer, I just can't. It hurts too much, being with you is just a dream and I want it to be real, but you don't love me and you never will, and I...”

Jim's head snapped up. “Wait a minute. You what?”

Oswald groaned, half laughing at the absurdity of it. “I'm in love with you, damn it,” he cried. “I can't pretend this doesn't mean anything to me, even if it doesn't to you...”

Jim swooped in to seize Oswald's shoulders, holding him in place. “Oz, it does,” he said, nearly shouting. “It means everything to me. You mean everything.”

Oswald's mind blanked out. Jim was a handsome blur through the tears. Shocked into immobility, Oswald was glad of Jim's hands supporting him, because he felt as if he'd been cut off at the knees.

Jim heaved out a breath. “You mean everything to me,” he said, more quietly. “Because I love you and I can't imagine life without you.”

Tilting his head, Jim placed a kiss lightly on Oswald's mouth.

The words barely made any sense, but of one thing Oswald was cognizant of, and that was he was a complete mess and unfit to be kissed. “Oh don't do that, I'm a mess,” he hiccuped, fumbling for his handkerchief.

The fury drained out of him, leaving him empty, but Jim's words quickly filled the void, those impossible words.

When had this happened? This momentous turnaround?

“So what was it, my electric lips or my award-winning personality?” he blurted before he could stop himself. Now was hardly the time for sarcasm, but it was just about the only thing he was capable of producing at the moment.

Jim's eyes bored into his as he stepped closer to cup his jaw with both hands, wiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs, and he was completely serious when he said, “It was all of it. All of you.”

His expression turned sheepish as he moved his hands to Oswald's shoulders. “Actually, I...I've felt this way for a while.”

“Define 'a while'.”

“Well, um, I might have kind of... lied about wanting to go this wedding.” Jim rubbed the back of his neck, hung his head. “I thought it was the only way you'd agree to go out with me.”

Oswald stared at him. “You cooked up this scheme of fake dating.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Playing off my vengeful nature, is that it?”

Jim shifted his feet, face wary, uncertain as to whether or not Oswald was insulted. “Uh. Well. Yeah.”

Oswald snorted, feeling the corner of his mouth tugging up, and chuckled, shaking his head. Jim knew him too well. “Why, Jim, I never knew you had it in you to be so devious.”

Jim brushed the back of his finger across Oswald's cheek. “I'm sorry I made you cry.”

“You could have told me sooner.”

“Figured I'd wait 'til after the reception. When you saw Ed was out of reach.” He shrugged, awkward. “I'd show you I could be a better boyfriend.”

“That wouldn't have been difficult, James. Considering that he never was.” He smiled ruefully at Jim's startled look. “It was very...one-sided. I was through with him a long time ago.”

“His loss,” Jim said, sticking out his jaw.

Oswald flung his arms around Jim's neck. Jim hugged him back, fierce, possessive.

“Hey,” Jim said, grinning, running his hands up and down Oswald's back. “Wanna go practice at the reception hall?”

Oswald laughed weakly, more of a wet coughing sound than a real laugh. He considered it, how they could shamelessly make everyone uncomfortable with making out and batting their eyes at each other and all the other obnoxious things couples newly in love did to make everyone hate the sight of them, and quickly discarded the notion in the next moment.

He was tired of being on display. “I've had more than enough practice for one lifetime, Jim. I don't want to put on a show anymore.”

Jim grew solemn again and he cupped Oswald's jaw. “Whatever you want, babe. Just putting it out there as an option.”

Babe. Another endearment. Oswald hadn't thought he could soar any higher.

Jim's stomach growled suddenly. “Wanna go eat?” he asked, sheepishly.

“I think that would be best,” Oswald chuckled.

Fortunately, his car had pulled up to the curb in the interrum, though Oswald had no idea when it had arrived, and they were able to make a quick getaway.

\- - - - - -

Oswald was perfectly happy to go back to Jim's place, which was closer, and Jim assured him it had been recently cleaned.

Indeed, the scent of cleanser lingered in the air of Jim's spartan rooms, the bathroom fairly sparkling.

“I didn't sleep very well,” Jim confessed. “So I got up and started scrubbing the place.”

Jim apologized for the state of his cupboards, but eventually he scrounged up a can of soup.

“Ooo, brand name, too,” Oswald said lightly, but Jim's eyebrows pinched together and his mouth drew into a thin line.

Oswald touched his arm, contrite. “I only meant to tease. I'm honestly not that hungry.”

The pained look on Jim's face went away. “Just wish I'd thought of some decent food, along with cleaning up. Probably not what you're used to.”

“Jim, I've had more dinners out of a can than I can count. My mother was an excellent cook, but she didn't always have time to make meals from scratch.”

“Well, I'm sure you're used to better.” Jim gave him an appraising look. “And it suits you. The finer things, I mean.”

Oswald ducked his head, smiling, feeling his cheeks heat. He looked up at Jim through his lashes. “Like I said, I'm not that hungry. Not for food, anway.”

Jim, busy at the counter with the can opener, did a brief double take, casting a startled look over his shoulder, then treated him to a wolfish grin and a gleam in his eye that made Oswald's pulse jump in anticipation.

They sat, and ate, then sat a little longer, until conversation lagged, but more because of a heated expectancy permeating the atmosphere rather than a lack of topics. and reduced Oswald to babbling, which fortunately he was able to curb.

It had something to do with the way Jim was staring at him. The intensity, the way his eyes kept running over him.

Abruptly Oswald couldn't wait any longer, and he surged to his feet just as Jim got to his.

“Just out of curiosity,” Oswald said. “If we had gone to the reception, in what way would we have stolen their thunder?”

“Might have started off with a little dancing, if you felt up to it,” Jim said, and walked over to a bookshelf to turn on the radio. Smooth jazz wafted into the air.

Oswald arched an eyebrow. “Very sophisticated. But just a short spell. I've been on my feet most of the day, I'm afraid. Too much pacing.”

And fretting, and restlessness. It was a difficult habit to break, even when he knew he should rest and not overwork his leg.

They moved around the room, swaying, Jim's hand at his waist, and Oswald lay his head on Jim's shoulder, until eventually they shuffled to a stop by silent agreement. “So I'm your first, then?” Jim said.

“Yes, in everything.” Oswald swallowed and lay his palms on Jim's chest.

Jim hummed. “That's a lot of pressure,” he said, his hand dropping lower to caress his hip.

Oswald giggled, feeling so warm and happy and excited he thought he might melt into a puddle. That Jim was looking at him like that, like he wanted to eat him up. “I have high expectations, James,” he said, trying for playful haughtiness.

And oh yes, there was a definite glint in Jim's eye that sent shivers down Oswald's spine.

They retired to the bedroom, but it took some time to actually reach the bed.

They stood in the middle of the room, and Jim managed to keep his mouth pressed to Oswald's while he shucked off Oswald's jacket first, and then his own, dumping them unceremoniously onto the floor, while Oswald got to work on Jim's buttons. Jim's fingers deftly slipped off Oswald's tie with a whisper of silk.

Jim's hands busily loosened Oswald's clothing, pushing under his shirt and working Oswald into a frenzy, until at last Jim stepped back and abruptly stripped out of his own clothes.

Oswald stared, transfixed, as Jim emerged from his suit, looking just as good without it as Oswald always suspected, the sight of his smooth muscles and toned form simultaneously ramping up his desire and causing him to despair over his own gangliness. How in the world had Oswald gotten so lucky? He found it hard to believe Jim could possibly find him attractive, despite the evidence to the contrary.

But there was no denying the intensity of Jim's expression, his pupils blown wide, the heat evident in his gaze, as he came towards Oswald again.

Jim undressed him piece by piece, slipping the suspenders off his shoulders, divesting him of shirt and undershirt, pausing occasionally to kiss him and run his hands all over him, plunging his hands down the back of Oswald's pants, until Oswald couldn't think straight.

Up until Jim pushed his pants down, taking his underwear with it.

He experienced a spike of terror, fighting the ridiculous urge to cover up as Jim crouched to help Oswald step out of his pants. This was Jim's first sight of his damaged leg and Oswald felt more vulnerable than mere nakedness could account for. Which was absurd. As Jim might have suddenly forgotten about it.

Jim's hands steadied him, warm on Oswald's hips, as he stepped away from the clothes puddled on the floor.

Instead of getting up, Jim settled onto his knees, glanced up at Oswald as if asking permission or to check that he was okay. Oswald wasn't entirely sure, but that open, adoring gaze of Jim's made him want whatever it was Jim wanted, so he nodded, and Jim took Oswald's cock into his mouth.

Oswald doubled over, moaning, and grabbed Jim's shoulders, holding on for dear life. That wet heat. Jim's tongue. Exquisite.

He indulged in that heat, tried not to drive forward into Jim's mouth, but couldn't help rocking his hips a little.

But he needed more, more, he needed more of Jim's touch.

“Lie down,” he begged, barely coherent. “On top of me.”

Reduced to caveman talk, how romantic.

Jim rose quickly, looking as wrecked as Oswald felt, his hair a glorious mess, his eyes dark, and he backed up, bringing Jim with him, and crawled onto the bed, Jim followed after, to lie on top of him.

Oswald pulled him close in a filthy kiss, all tongue and open mouth. He worried, briefly, if Jim thought it was gross, considering where Jim's mouth had just been, but Jim was plundering his mouth with equal abandon, and Oswald lost himself to sensation, the weight of him.

Jim ground against him. Oswald moaned and gasped and cried out as he and Jim ground against each other, and he ran his hands over as much of Jim as he could, his arms and shoulders, his strong back, and up to tangle his fingers in his hair.

It was so good, Jim solid and real and warm, anchoring him to this place, this time, in the creaking bed.

When Jim rose up, Oswald whined in disappointment, and then Jim reached for a drawer, took out a tube, and slicked up Oswald's shaft, giving him a few extra strokes, making Oswald groan with want and buck into his hand before Jim gave himself the same treatment.

Oswald watched with fascination, and more than a little nervousness. He had attempted to penetrate himself with his fingers a few times, fantasized about Jim fucking him, but faced with the immediacy of Jim's arousal, the prospect was intimidating.

He'd wanted this for so long. He would give Jim everything, anything he wanted, but his trepidation must have shown on his face, because Jim quirked an eyebrow. “Starting to think maybe we should talk a little about what we would do.”

Oswald's eyes flickered up from where he was watching Jim stroke himself, to meet the consideration in Jim's eyes. “Recommendations?”

“Start off slow,” he said, and closed his hand over both of their erections. “I think...this is a good place to start. For tonight.”

Oswald's eyes fluttered closed. It was so good, so good.

Jim's breath was hot in his ear. “If you want more,” he said, voice husky. “I'll give you more. 'Sgood, babe?” He gave him a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Nice?”

At least Oswald wasn't the only one who'd forgotten how to talk.

“Yes,” he whispered. “So nice. This. Stay with this.”

More than nice, but mere words didn't do it justice.

Slow rocking, and Oswald got into the rhythm of it, clinging to Jim's arm, clutching at the mattress with his other hand. Oswald wanted to remember every second of it, Jim's thighs shoved up between his own, his arm braced next to Oswald, his hand wrapped around both of them, stroking and stroking until Oswald threw his head back, wailing.

Jim dragged his tongue up the side of Oswald's neck, and bit him lightly, and then his body went taut, and he let out the most delicious groan against the side of Oswald's neck, warmth coating Oswald's stomach, it made Oswald ridiculously elated, and smug, a primal satisfaction that he was the one who'd made Jim groan like that.

Jim collapsed on top of him, chest heaving, and Oswald kissed his temple, his hair, little brushes of his lips until Jim's breathing steadied. He made a move as if to shift to the side, but Oswald made a noise of protest and tightened his arms and knees around him, so he stayed put, settling down on Oswald, wonderfully weighing him down again, moving a bit here and there to get comfortable, settling his head into the crook of Oswald's neck. 

They were a mess, but Oswald didn't care if they spent the rest of the night like this. He didn't want to move ever again. He stroked Jim's hair, running his fingers through the short strands, marvelling at the pleasant laziness of his own mind (that never happened) and the languor of his body.

He'd liked the noise that Jim made. He wanted to hear him again, and soon.

“Oz,” Jim murmured. “If we stay like this much longer we're gonna be glued together.”

Oswald smiled into Jim's hair. “That wouldn't be so bad.”

Jim's dry chuckle sent pleasant vibrations through Oswald's chest, and with a nuzzle and some kisses, Jim coaxed himself out of Oswald's arms.

He offered Oswald first use of the shower, and Oswald was pleased by the gallantry, until he finished washing up, and paused at the sight of the single, pathetic, threadbare piece of cloth hanging on the hook. It had to be a towel. It was too big to be a washcloth. A quick search of the cupboard revealed that it was, in fact, the only towel on the premises.

He dried off, frowning at the results. Not only was he still damp, the towel was completely inadequate to dry off another body.

But when he apologetically informed Jim as much, the man merely shrugged and went out to the kitchen, coming back with a hand towel.  
“Jim, for heaven's sake, splurge and get a decent set of bath towels,” he exclaimed, unable to contain his exasperation. “Being a bachelor shouldn't mean living like a barbarian.”

“I don't think barbarians have hand towels.” Jim winked. “You can buy me some,” he said over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Oswald stood staring at the closed door, holding the damp towel around his waist, while his heart took another leap into hitherto unknown realms.

He could. He could furnish Jim with enough towels to fill his cupboards. And more, besides.

Visions of gift-giving danced through his head, of birthdays and holidays and special occasions. They could spend them together, no longer would he have to suffer through another joyless holiday alone, doing his level best to ignore Thanksgiving and Passover and Hannukah, and the hollow void left by his mother.

He would gladly shower Jim with Christmas presents, but...he probably shouldn't. It was too much. Too clingy or smothering or something.

And wasn't he being entirely too presumptuous, assuming Jim would want to spend holidays with him? Despite the extensive file he'd amassed on Jim, he knew very little about the man's background, Jim's parents and uncle were dead, but he thought he recalled there was a brother somewhere. He didn't think Jim had ever taken time off to visit him or any other relatives.

He was still staring at the door when Jim emerged a few minutes later, breaking out of his trance when Jim started at the sight of him.

Blushing, Oswald turned away. Caught staring like some maniac, he'd done it now.

But Jim moved quickly to his side, touching his arm. “You all right?”

Oswald struggled to compose himself. He truly was happy, felt so honored that Jim had chosen him to be with, but then why did he feel like crying? How could something so absurdly simple as a damn towel have set off such a wave of elation, panic, and second guessing? “I'm sorry,” he said shakily.

Jim tugged at his arm to make him turn and face him. “Hey, it's okay,” he said, quietly. “It's just...you look like a bomb went off.”

Oswald took a breath and rubbed his heel into his eye. A bomb was not entirely inaccurate. “It's...a lot,” he said. “I don't know where to start.”

Jim rubbed his arms to soothe him, ducked his head to look him in the eye. “You can tell me. I can take it.”

“I'm doing what I usually do, thinking ahead. Thinking too much.”

Jim squeezed his arms, gently, and paused, his eyes flickering over Oswald's face as he gave careful thought to his words. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Oswald's chest constricted. This was even worse than wanting to cover up his leg, the urge to protect his heart almost overwhelming, to dissemble, to make a joke of it, turn the talk to something light.

Instead, Oswald took a deep breath, and took the plunge. “A few hours ago I was getting ready to be alone again. I didn't think there would be any more dates, and certainly not...not any of this.” He waved a hand, doing his best to encompass Jim and the bed and everything. “It's so much more than I ever thought would happen. I think I'm having trouble believing it's real.”

He was beginning to feel like an idiot. Hadn't Jim declared he couldn't imagine life without Oswald? They'd just had sex, and Jim was currently standing there stark naked trying to console him. What more reassurance did Oswald need?

And yet, Oswald needed it all the same. Jim was still gazing at him with concern, and gave him a little nod, encouraging him to continue.

Oswald grasped at something more concrete to offer him. “I was thinking about gifts, and wondering if... are we ...together? For holidays and such?”

Jim's eyebrows shot up. “I should hope so. I'd be a pretty lousy boyfriend if I didn't do holidays.”

Oswald laughed again, a bit wetly, and some of the awful tightness in his chest eased. Jim was his boyrfriend. “That means I'm your boyfriend,” he said, feeling horrendously timid and unspeakably happy.

“Damn right,” Jim said in a low husky voice that sent shivers down Oswald's spine. He pulled Oswald close with a hand in the small of his back, cupping his jaw to kiss him.

“I was just kidding about you buying me towels, you know,” Jim said.

Oswald felt a surprised laugh bubble out. “Yes, Jim, I know,” he sighed, rolling his eyes and looping his arms over Jim's shoulders. “Though I'd gladly empty the stores of their entire stock for you.”

“Yeah? Then I'm gonna need a bigger place,” Jim said, with a comically skeptical glance around the room.

“That, too, could be arranged,” Oswald said, grinning, smirking really.

“I'll be a kept man, huh?” Jim said playfully, letting his hands fall to Oswald's hips, but Oswald thought he detected some mild alarm.

He discarded any more attempts at sugar daddy jokes. It would be in poor taste. Jim would probably encounter enough of that sort of thing from his boorish colleagues, Oswald wouldn't needlessly add to the burden.

“Not at all,” he said firmly, and kissed him. “You're your own man.”

“Long as I get to be yours, too.” He frowned adorably, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. “Wait. That doesn't make any sense.”

Oswald giggled and kissed him again. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

Jim squeezed his hips, then glanced down, frowning. “Shit, this really is crappy,” he said, rubbing the edge of it between his fingertips. “Better get rid of it,” he said, and pulled it off.

With his hands on Oswald's hips, he walked him backward to the bed and pushed him onto it, crawling in after him. At least they'd mostly air-dried by this point, and Jim was still warm from his shower. Oswald embraced him eagerly.

He spared a final glance for the towel. “It's not going to dry properly lying on the floor, Jim, how shall we clean up later?”

“Uh... paper towels?”

“That does it, we're staying at my place next time.”


End file.
